


The Absence of Memory

by afinecollector (orphan_account)



Series: Not Waving but Drowning [34]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Brotherly Love, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Concern, Epilpesy, Family, Gen, JME, Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy, Love, Medication, Memories, Mental Capacity, Neurological Event, Reminiscing, Seizure, Wise words, Worry, brotherly concern, cognitive impairment, family values, fraternal love, remembering, stroke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/afinecollector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is beginning to worry that Sherlock's brain might not be what it used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Absence of Memory

"Do you remember that day in the last summer holiday before you left for University, and we went to Mummy's sister's house in Somerset?" Sherlock asked suddenly into the quiet nothingness of Mycroft's home office. 

Mycroft hadn't expected to hear Sherlock's voice; he knew the man was there, of course, and he had been for some time. Mycroft often permitted Sherlock access to his vastly stocked library when he knew that the boredom might be too much for his younger brother if he wasn't given said opportunity. But it was rare Sherlock actually bothered to come and _bother him_ , finding it awfully taxing to take the trip across the hallway from the library to Mycroft's office, and so to hear him speak - and to speak of something so sentimental - was a little surprising. 

Mycroft removed his glasses and looked up from the computer on his desk. "The day you vomited in Dad's car?" He asked, leaning back in his seat. "I seem to recall you vomited a lot, but my favourite was when you brought up your medication in the first hour of the journey, had Mummy frantically ringing the paediatrician to find out if she could readminister for fear you would show her up by having a seizure at Aunt Rose's house. I also remember you vomited on your shoes and Mummy about had a conniption at the smell that lingered on your socks." 

"I was eleven years old, and it was hot," Sherlock insisted, placing the book he was clutching between his long fingers onto the edge of Mycroft's desk as he got nearer. He invited himself to sit down on one of the two chairs that faced Mycroft's desk and looked at his brother with his mouth pulled to the side in thought. "And thrilling that it is you have remembered how my stomach contents acted that day, I was actually intending to remind you of the way in which Aunt Rose treated you and I; she barely left our sides the entire time, took the two of us everywhere with her, said we were like two little princes and should be treated as such." 

Mycroft frowned at him, "I remember the day perfectly, Sherlock. I just don't understand why you're in here reminiscing when you're supposed to be researching something in the library that you insisted Lestrade needed." 

"I found this book," Sherlock reached forward and tapped his finger on the book he'd left on the desk. "Open it and read the back of the inside hardcover." 

Keeping his eyes fixed on his brother, Mycroft reached forward and took hold of the book, bringing it with him as he returned to resting back in the chair. He cradled the old book in his left hand and eased open the cover with the fingers on his right. Against the paper cover on the inside of the book was written, in beautiful cursive, 'Happy Birthday, dearest Mycroft. May you amount to more than you ever believed you could, and may your brother be at your side to see it. Love, Aunt Rose x.' Mycroft read the words slowly, then closed the book. He held it a moment and looked back up at his brother. "It was a birthday gift - but I don't see what this has to do with your sudden burst of sentimentality." 

"I don't recall her handing you a book at any point, and yet you and I went everywhere together that day," Sherlock said with a frown. "I know that because you wouldn't leave me, it was only a few months after I was diagnosed with epilepsy and Mummy wouldn't _let_ you leave me. Did I have a seizure when we were there? Usually, I know - there's something that I remember, or I'm sick and achy so it's obvious, but I don't remember that." He pointed at the book, "And I don't remember having a seizure." 

Mycroft looked at him with slightly sad eyes. "You used to remember." 

"Used to remember?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "How could I have forgotten; I don't delete many things from when you and I were actually happy as children, Mycroft, why would I delete that?" 

"For space on the hard drive, I don't know Sherlock. Who ever knows what goes on in your funny mind? But out of curiosity, and perhaps to answer your question, what does it feel like? Is it a vague Deja Vous?" Mycroft asked, "As though you know something, but you cannot accurately pin it down." He watched Sherlock nod his head. "Cognitive impairment from the stroke, brother dear. Perhaps it isn't just narrowed down to that charming lisp you now sport, and there is further damage to your memories that wasn't evident before because nobody asked the right questions? A startling realisation if it is indeed the case - an individual with cognitive impairment is at a greater risk of developing Alzheimer's Disease, then again those who experience strokes are left with vascular damage which can in turn cause vascular dementia. Perhaps the cracks are beginning to show, little brother. Should I be seeking medical attention and beginning you on Memantine?" 

"I think simvastatin and sodium valproate is quite enough, thank you." Sherlock pushed himself to his feet, ending the conversation there he hoped, and reached out for the book. 

"We can't always brush the changes in you under the carpet, Sherlock. We can't always avoid talking about the damage you've done to your brain because it makes you feel uncomfortable. You did it, it happened, and there are more and more cracks that will present themselves as you grow older. There has to be a point when you realise that I am here to walk through this life with you - like Aunt Rose suggested, we should be side by side to see this through together." Mycroft said, standing, and held out the book to his brother. "I am not against you, Sherlock, I am for you. With you. Promise me something," he whispered and waited for Sherlock to nod his head before he continued. "You come to me if there are any more breaks in your memory, anymore...symptoms?" He released the book as Sherlock tugged it from his hand. "And I'll continue to go everywhere with you."

Sherlock blinked his eyes away from his brother. "Just because I don't remember, doesn't mean I'm ill." He turned away and began to walk out of Mycroft's office. 

Mycroft watched him walk, concerned he may have stressed him out and that leaving him to now wander off alone was not the right choice, but he didn't follow. He sat back down in his chair and rested his left elbow on the armrest. He took his head into his hand and sighed, praying silently to a God he did not believe in that this was not the start of something worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Memantine - a drug used to "preserve memories" in individuals who have been diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease; the earlier it is started, the better effect it is supposed to have. 
> 
> Simvastatin - a drug prescribed to individuals who have had strokes; aims to reduce lipid build up in the vascular system. 
> 
> Sodium Valproate (Epilim) - an AED/ACM (anti-epileptic drug/anti-convulsive medication) used to treat epilepsy, predominantly tonic-clonic seizures.


End file.
